Skull Creek Massacre
by the-academy-isn't
Summary: AU. One second Sarah was there, and then she just wasn't anymore. It used to be about the ghosts, but that didn't last long. Sarah and Ryan have a lot of catching up to do. Adopted from F AL SE Gamaliel.
1. It makes me feel important

This first chapter was written by F AL SE Gamaliel. You can go on her profile to see the original story. This has been adopted by the-academy-isn't, but is beta'd by F AL SE Gamaliel. Thanks!

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><p>AU. Everything was fine for Sarah, in the beginning. She had great parents – pigheaded sometimes, but still – and a good amount of money for film school. She had her best friend, Ryan (who her parents were VERY pigheaded about) who worked at a mechanic shop his dad owned. And then <em>it <em>happened. Skull Creek, Victoria, Australia was supposed to be a boring, normal town. It wasn't.

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><p>It was so easy to get caught up in the heat of Australia, that it was almost suffocating. She hated going outside of her house in the summer, because she hated the feeling the humid air gave her. It was hard to explain, but the way it clung to your skin, invaded your nose, was almost too much for her.<p>

So, on days like these, she would stay in the house, with her air conditioning on high, a fan, in a tank top and pajama shorts. But not today – oh, no, today she was venturing out into the heat. A rare occurrence, if anyone in town was asked. But she was on a mission.

Her mission? To give Ryan McCray, head mechanic of McCray Auto, a piece of her mind. Today was his birthday, and he hadn't answered a single one of her phone calls. She understood that the stubborn mule didn't like his birthday – even if he was turning 18, a year older than her – but he should know that after 8 years there was no escaping her.

And so here she was, brown hair pulled into a pony tail, a yellow tank top with matching flip-flops, a pair of jean shorts that were as small as could be without showing too much, and wide sun glasses to cover her eyes. She could feel the hairs to short to fit into her pony tail, and had escaped their bobby pin, sticking to the back of her neck with sweat.

She scrunched her nose, making a mental note to _take a shower as soon as she got home. _Maybe if she was lucky, Mrs. McCray would let her take a shower in the small apartment they had built above the auto shop. She had done it enough, and Ryan had a whole drawer dedicated to her clothes. She had no idea how many times they'd come back from fishing, or swimming in the creek, or just walking around, and had ended up with her staying on a fold out cot in the living room. She normally stole a shirt and some boxers from Ryan to sleep in, and had a drawer full of them at her house – all promised to return after being washed, but never were.

She was getting closer now, she could here Steven Tyler's _(It) Feels So Good_ blaring from the old beaten radio Mr. McCray was dead set on keeping, claiming that it still had some life in it yet. She liked to think that it was on it's death bed, and had stored a brand new radio in the back of Ryan's 1967 Mercury Cougar, dubbed Beauty.

She was anything but, with rusting powder blue paint, cracked leather seats, and a cracked window. But Ryan was dead set on her. She was beginning to think that the McCray men had a thing for pieces of junk.

She could see the the white and blue building now, with _'McCray'_ written in cursive letters, and the _'Auto' _written in all capital bold letters. Normally, she would have shouted out to Ryan, to let the strawberry blonde now that she was there, but she wasn't going to do that today.

One, because she wanted to surprise him, and two, because he would have a chance to run if he knew she was on her way. It wasn't often that she got to see him anymore, because her parents were starting to get agitated with all the time they spent together. It had been fine when they were 11 and 12, tolerable when they were 15 and 16. They had finally put their foot down when she turned 17, saying she shouldn't waste her time on some "backwoods boy who wasn't going anywhere."

Her parents had a lot of money, her dad being a doctor and her mom a lawyer. They had moved to the small town when she was 8, a charity thing because they hospital needed a heart surgeon, and her father had been curious about country living. She, on the other hand, had been attached to Sydney, not wanting to leave the sandy beach and her ballet classes. She quite loved Cesar salad with caviar, thank you very much.

That all changed once Ryan got a hold of her, and whisked her off into the beautiful country, teaching her how to spit, wrestle, and punch like the best of them. And then she had tried Mrs. McCray's fried chicken, mashed potatoes with brown gravy. Who needed baby fish eggs when there was deep fried chicken waiting on the table? Her mom refused to fry anything, of course, claiming it to be too greasy and fattening.

She slipped of her flip flops, tip toeing her way across the gray slab of the garage, creeping up behind Ryan, who was completely oblivious. Fitz, another mechanic, caught sight of her and ducked his head, hiding his grin. Tom, who was the clerk, openly grinned, because this had been a tradition since Ryan had started working at age 15. Absently, she noticed that Ryan was fixing Gladys Morgan's (the librarian) car.

Stopping about an inch away from her target, she took a deep, quiet breath, before shouting, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RYAN!"

The sound of a dropped wrench, a startled yelp, and two bellows of laughter greeted her exclamation. Ryan spun around, brown eyes wide, mouth slightly open. "Jesus Christ, Sarah, do you have to do this every year?"

"Only until you stop ignoring my calls, McCray," she replied, crossing her arms and raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow. Country girl or not, she wasn't about to walk around with fuzzy brows.

He chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck with a small smile she found endearing. "Sorry 'bout that, City, I guess I just... didn't hear?" the last part was posed as a question and obviously a lie, but she let it pass – like she did every year – when he used his nickname for her. He had started calling her 'City' when she had shown up to school in flats and a pink dress, her hair tied up in a ribbon. She had kicked him in the shins, but the boy was persistent. She had finally allowed after he shared his lunch with her – her mother had forgotten to make because she was on a 'big case' and needed time to sleep; 'I can't always do these things for you, Sarah.'

"Yeah, yeah, you say that every year, you stupid hick," the words had no venom, more affection than anything, but she had to say it for the sake of saying it. "You can make it up to me tonight. We're going to that cafe down Main St. and then swimming. I'm crashing at your place, because you're mom always make pancakes in the morning when I do. I rented a couple of movies, so we should be good."

They did the same thing every year (for both their birthdays) and their parents had excepted that yes, Sarah was spending the night with Ryan, and yes, they normally fell asleep on each other, and no, they couldn't do anything to stop it.

"Sounds good, doll face. We inviting anyone?"

"It's your birthday, McCray, who are you inviting?"

"No one," he said, leaning against the grill of the car, "It'll just be the two of us, like normal." She smiled at that, nodding her head yes. They had invited people once – Fitz and Laney, and it had been terrible. The two had an on and off relationship, had just gotten back together, and had done the frisky... int the water, leaving Ryan and Sarah in a very awkward situation. Needless to say, they had been a jumbling, blushing, mass of teenage meat when they arrived at Ryan's house.

She sat down on the rolling stool, lifting her glasses off her face – moving her bangs out of the way in the same motion – looking at the pink car Ryan had been fixing before she int interrupted. "So, what's from with it now?"

"A/C broke, sucked up a plastic bag or something, I have to dig it out."

"Then why do you have a wrench," she asked, looking at him like he was stupid.

"... it makes me feel important ..."


	2. You never even try

Welcome to Skull Creek Massacre- this is the first chapter that I'm writing. F AL SE Gamaliel is still beta-ing this, so she's still here.** Disclaimer: Skeleton Creek does not belong to either of us, me _or _F AL SE Gamaliel.**

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><p>"Thanks!" Sarah yelled, leaning against the door that concealed a set of stairs. Up the stairs led to the McCray's small apartment, which was Sarah's destination.<p>

"Yeah," Ryan replied, allowing a grin filled with mock-disapproval. "I hear you. Just be quick."

"Why?" Sarah said, her expression unconcerned. Honestly, she didn't care what her obstacles were. Ryan's mom and dad were out doing something, and Sarah had been granted permission to use the shower. Her hair was sticking to the back of her neck like it had been super glued there, and the heat was exasperating. If Ryan was letting her use the shower now, she could do it as fast as she needed to- be it in five minutes or five seconds. The only thing that she was worried about was getting in the shower and feeling normal again.

"My mom'll be back soon," He said, the smile melting off of his face just a bit as he explained.

"So? She's never cared before." Sarah replied, still not worried. Sure, _her_ parents could be strict and unwilling and stuck-up. Ryan's parents, though? She laughed at the thought. That would never happen. It would be a cold day in hell before they did anything similar to the actions of her own parental units. Ryan's parents and Sarah's parents has survived the past eight years with as little contact as possible besides the necessary. That was no easy task, their children having been inseparable for most of that time. They made it through with as little contact as they could.

Sarah's mother had always slightly resented the fact that Ryan had (you could say) slightly corrupted her little girl. Mrs. Fincher was a stern, proper woman who believed that the material in life was all there ever was (She was never very religious). She counted her daughter as _material_, and when Sarah met Ryan, everything changed, from her clothes to her attitude to her outlook on the world around her. In the mind of Mrs. Fincher, those changes weren't for the better.

Sarah was totally aware of her mom's slight hatred (if you could even call it that) toward Mrs. McCray. She did what she could to stop it, which wasn't much, in the end. What could she do, really? There were only so many changes you could make before you start trying to mold yourself in to someone else's idea of perfection. That just wasn't something Sarah felt the need to strive for, her mother's idea of perfection, so she didn't ever really even bother.

Sarah didn't have a real reason set in her mind for the McCray's misunderstanding of her own parents. She didn't worry about that all that much, after all, Ryan's parents seemed to like her. What did it matter if they had problems with the people who gave her life? They weren't _her_, and that was fine.

At least, Sarah _thought_ Mr. and Mrs. McCray had no problem with her being around all the time. She had assumed. How could they not like her even a little? She was a constant presence in their lives, eight years straight.

Ryan sighed, interrupting Sarah's thoughts, which had momentarily occupied her brain capacity. "They don't want us hanging around together as much as we have."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "It feels like the whole world is against us, sometimes, doesn't it?" She said, and before Ryan had time to reply, she had darted up the stairs and out of his sight.

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><p>The hours passed that day, and Sarah sat on her front porch in a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, the summer sun shining into her eyes. It was getting late but the sun was still up, and Sarah was waiting for Ryan to call her. When he called, she could be sure that he was ready, and Sarah could jog over to his place, with her unprotected feet hitting the pavement quickly so she could get to his house fast. In a small bag by her feet Sarah had his present, which she planned on giving to him as soon as she saw him.<p>

It was a tradition for them to forget to wear shoes when they go out on Ryan's birthday. It used to be a problem with Sarah's parents, but they never care about anything like that anymore. She used to have to run out the back door clad in flip flops only to abandon them a block and a half later. Sarah would grab them on my way back home, jamming them back onto my feet as she ran, racing against her curfew. She no longer have a curfew to challenge or parents who cared about the safety of her feet. It felt to Sarah like they had lost that element of danger, of euphoria, that comes with having a clock to beat. They used to find joy in barely escaping. They were reckless, but in a safe way.

Sarah's butt started vibrating. It was her phone in her back pocket, and Sarah'd be willing to bet anything that it was Ryan, giving her the proverbial thumbs-up.

"'Lo?" she answered, standing up and shoving her phone between her cheek and her shoulder while grabbing the bag with Ryan's present.

"Hey, it's me. Hurry up." Ryan replied, his voice muffled and shrouded by static through the phone. They live in a small town. The cell reception sucks, there's no help for it.

"I'm coming," Sarah replied, and she was off. Her phone was back in her pocket, the bag was slung over her shoulder, and her feet slammed against the pavement with a resounding _thump,_ moving fast enough that she couldn't feel every sharp little thing that she stepped on. It was tradition and Sarah welcomed it. There isn't enough traditional things, she figured. She wished there were more.

The sun wouldn't start to set for a few hours. They had time, and they usually stayed out way past the setting of the sun anyway. They didn't have anything to worry about, time-wise, but Sarah ran anyway, for the sake of years' past.

She came up to Ryan's garage in what might have been record time, and she saw him standing there, waiting for her. He always stood there, and Sarah always ran up. It's pretty obvious that the most they had ever changed this particular celebration was that one time when they invited their friends.

"Here," Sarah said, forking over the present. It was in a bag because Sarah suck at wrapping. Ryan knows that.

"This is a really pretty bag," Ryan snickered. "I'm sure there's a lot of wrapping paper that's prettier, though."

"Oh, shut up." Sarah flicked his forehead, smirking back.

"Hey! Don't hurt the birthday boy!" He yelled, grimacing and feigning real pain. He clutched at his forehead, moaning.

"Zip it. You _know_ I can't wrap."

"You never even _try_."

"Why try at something you know you suck at?"

"Now, Sarah, you will go nowhere with an attitude like that."

"Shut it. You probably got that line off of the television. Nice try."

A few more bickering responses later, and they had gotten it out of their systems.

"So, in that bag is your present," Sarah said, gesturing to the bag in his hands. "Also in that bag is the movies I rented for us to watch later. Do your parents have an issue with that?"

That was the first mention of what he had said earlier, and Sarah was trying my hardest not to make a big deal out of it.

"Yeah, we should be alright. Can I open it?" Ryan said, smiling. He seemed to want to get past that whole thing just as much as Sarah did, which was perfectly fine with her.

"Yeah, go ahead. It isn't much," Sarah had never worried all that much about what she had gotten Ryan, and she wasn't about to start now.

He reached in and grabbed out the couple of movies that Sarah had gotten, some random gore-filled horror flicks that they both _knew_ were corny but admitted to loving anyway. He nodded approvingly. "Great selections," he said, and he was only partially joking.

He reached back in and grabbed out the actual present, a set of books on noveling.

"Wow, Sarah... this is interesting? I think?" He said in thanks, his words coming out in the form of a question.

"Eh, you write a lot. You always have. Think about it, Ry- these could be the books that get you published! Or something. I don't know. I got it off the internet, if you want me to return it," Sarah replied, slightly apologetic.

"Nah, it's cool. Maybe I'll try it. You can be the person I dedicate my first novel to. _Thanks to my dear friend City, who got me a book for my birthday."_

Sarah laughed. "Whatever. You're crazy. Are you ready to go to that cafe place? Or do you want to stand around insulting me and wasting daylight?"

"C'mon, let's get a move on. You're right, for once!" Ryan smirked, as he shoved the books and the DVDs back in the bag, sticking the whole thing on his porch. He grabbed my arm and yanked me off into the sunset.

"Ryan, you're pulling me the wrong way."

"Right. I knew that."


End file.
